


The King's Game

by Gadhar



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s still hunched over, and he stares at the new guard with…some feeling. There’s a bit of regret, because this new guard obviously hadn’t wanted to do any of that and only did for his own life. It’s sad but Erik can understand that, his life is worth nothing to this guard. But there’s still anger, still hatred, for the guards, for the prison, for his King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Erik stares at the scratched out board on the wood pallet they let him sleep on. He remembers the day he did it, how the wood had dug into his fingertips, splintered under his nails, and made them bleed. It had hurt then, he has a hard time remembering that pain now. He wants to move his bishop, but it’s a bad move; the piece would be swallowed up by the knight or even the queen. The knight probably though. No one wants to lose their queen. 

Hank is watching him curiously as Erik’s hand flicks out and moves his own knight instead. He leans back and closes his eyes, trying to imagine the game in his head. They’re not actual pieces that they’re playing with, the Knights and King would never allow such things in here. Instead they play with pieces of junk that they find lying around. Aglets from two pairs of shoes, before they were confiscated, serve as knights. Some wood chips are their pawns. And all the larger pieces- the rooks, bishops, kings and queens- are represented by cigarette butts of varying sizes that the Knights and guards flick at them in futile attempts to rile them. 

They’re not entirely futile, Erik supposes, considering Alex was now in the Hole after becoming particularly mouthy after such a barrage of the vile things. Logan offers the tips of his cigars though, occasionally. Erik hasn’t decided if he is a decent person, or just a decent guard. 

Erik hears the clack of a piece hitting the wood and he opens his eyes, blinks. “You are a truly terrible chess player.” It’s a few more moves, back and forth, quick for him, years for Hank, but soon he’s got Hank’s king trapped between his two bishops and he likes the thought that those are the pieces that got the final move. In a religious context they’re like guardians, or overseers. Quite like himself he supposes. But then, more importantly, and even more relevant to himself, they’re _Läufers._

“I don’t understand,” Hank huffs and his eyes are dancing across the board, hands moving clumsily as he dictates some notes about the game on his pad of paper. 

The guards allow _him_ paper and pencil. Erik’s not sure why, nor does he thinks it’s fair, but he’s well aware of what happens if he says anything. Instead, he entertains Hank’s questions of how he won and where the pivotal moments of the game were. They go through this almost every time they play. Erik’s not sure why Hank is so interested in the logic of it, the ‘mathematics’, as he calls it. If Erik didn’t know better he’d think Hank was trying to figure his mind out through how he played chess. Though, after he heard Sean grumbling complaints that Hank deemed useless, Erik thinks it’s more to keep the analytical part of his mind alive. The King is truly wasting Hank’s scientific talent, locking him up down here in the dregs with Erik and the other Schmutz. 

Erik feels a tap on his shoulder, deft and swift. He glances at Azazel’s tail, reaching through the bars that separate them, swishing slowly back and forth in starts and stops. Two guards. Marko’s one of them. 

He’s tempted to ask which Marko but they’ve no time, besides the guards don’t like it when they talk. 

Erik turns back to Hank hastily who’s already working away, swiping away their chess pieces and covering the scratched out board in hay. They’ve just torn away and covered the chess strategy pages of Hank’s pad when the metal bars of the cage are struck with a rod. 

Erik’s ear hurt at the sound, and so does a minor part of his being at seeing metal abused as such. There’s grace to metal-working, it’s even a dance when two swords clash. But mindless banging is as grating on his ears as glass is to skin. 

Erik shouldn’t even feel it though, not with the inhibitor collar. 

“Wake up you sorry bastards!” Cain Marko crows, dragging the tip of his iron baton along the bars. He walks down the row of cages and Erik already knows everyone is staring at the floors of their cells, ever the picture of obedience. “Hey you, McCoy! What are you doing in _Lensherr’s cage_?” 

The baton comes through the bars and pokes viciously against Hank’s side but the scientist remains still, staring at the floor. “The King gave me permission to ask Mr. Lensherr some questions.” Hank says evenly and even Erik flinches, a mere twitch of his eyes, when the baton whips out, cracking against the side of Hank’s head. 

Hank’s glasses fly off and hit the stone wall. Erik growls, low in his throat as Hank holds his head and breathes deeply. 

“Ah, ah, ah, Lensherr,” Cain taunts, key twisting in the lock. The two guards who are always stationed at the end of the hall file into the cell and grab Hank under the arms, hauling him out. A few moments later, metal grinds against gears as the door to Hank’s cell slam closed. He’s at least 3 cells away from Erik now, between Sean and Darwin. They’ll have to make sure he’s okay once Marko is gone. “Behave you miserable sod.” 

Cain’s baton explodes against his temple and Erik lurches to the side, but he doesn’t fall, purely through willpower. He straightens his back and remains sitting. 

_Now is not the time._

_Now is not the time._

He calms himself by imagining various bloody and painful ways to kill Marko. 

“I swear, the King has his head up his arse, letting you bastards live here in these cozy cages. You ought to be groveling in the dirt, licking my boots.” Cain’s baton prods at Erik’s temple as he blathers on and on about how he would handle the King’s secret army. 

Erik tightens his fingers in the fabric of his pants. 

“Are you listening to me, you insufferable kraut!” Cain stabs the side of Erik’s head and then thrusts the baton under his chin, urging Erik to rise to his feet. 

He’s standing there, waiting for Cain’s next blow- one to the gut, another to the back of the head, like usual- when another voice interrupts Cain’s tirade. 

“That’s enough Cain.” 

The new voice is the other guard that Cain had entered with. It’s someone Erik’s never seen before and had forgotten about. He’s shorter than Cain, too blue eyes and a mop of brown hair. Something about him feels off to Erik, he looks harmless, mousey; nothing like the usual guards who work in this place. 

“Don’t get sentimental Charlie. These worms are just that, _worms._ Lensherr especially. You can’t let them be insolent, you have to discipline them Charlie.” 

“They didn’t do anything Cain, you’re being cruel.” 

Erik immediately decides that this new guard, this _Charlie,_ is incredibly stupid. Kurt Marko is Cain’s father, and Kurt has the King’s ear. Cain could have this new guard flogged and quartered with just a word. 

At least Erik and the others are somewhat safe from the full wrath of Cain, being the King’s special army and all. They can’t be horribly starved or hurt. It would make them unfit to serve the king and terrorize harmless villages. 

The guard has no such protection. 

“Charlie, are you trying to tick me off? Or,” Cain’s eyes suddenly go very black, his grin splitting real wide. “Do you just want to give ol’ Lensherr a few cracks yourself?” 

The guard’s eyes go wide, almost comically, Erik would laugh if he wasn’t the one about to be beaten. 

“I-I don’t, _no. No.”_

“Ah, don’t be shy Charlie, here, go on. Lensherr’s a sturdy one if anything, I bet he can take your hardest blow. Let’s find out, come on.” 

Cain’s pushing his baton into the new guards hands and Erik can feel the gathering of sweat at the nape of his own neck, this not good. Not at all. 

They’ve gauged most of the guards, they know what pleases them and what ticks them off. They know what to do and what not to do. It’s hardest with Cain, because Erik has yet to find _anything_ that doesn’t tick the prick off. But this knew guard, Erik doesn’t know him. Doesn’t know his personality, doesn’t know what he likes and what he doesn’t like in a prisoner. His first impression is that this guard is weak and stupid, but, looks can be deceiving. With a baton in his hand, Erik has no clue what kind of monster this new guard will turn into. 

They always change, even the half-decent ones, when they’ve got a weapon. When they’ve got _power._

“I want no part of this Cain.” Charlie hisses and he shoves the baton back at Cain. But Cain’s won’t take it. His eyes are still dark but his features have twisted into something far less gleeful and far more angry. 

“Do it Charlie, _make your bones.”_

Erik catches the real message behind that. _Or I’ll break your bones._

Erik doesn’t understand why this guard is hesitating. He’s working at a, for all intents and purposes, prison. Brutality by the guards is a well-known albeit unspoken reality and everybody but the actual prisoners is _perfectly okay with it._ Why is this new guard any different? 

The baton is still in the new guard’s hands and he’s looking nervously between Erik and Cain. Erik notes how terrified he looks, and there’s something else burning deep in those sapphire blue eyes. Something well-hidden. 

“Last chance Charlie, or, I’ll beat Lensherr and make you watch and then, _I’ll beat you.”_

Azazel hisses behind him and Erik quickly jerks his head in a firm no. _This is not the time,_ he wants to say, but he can’t, not with Cain there. So he hopes Azazel gets the message. There is absolutely no need for anyone else to get harmed. 

The new guard looks at Erik apologetically but his mouth is set in a firm line. Grim is written all over his face and all in his body language. It’s all still baffling to Erik but he unconsciously straightens, puffing his chest out a little. He will not be seen as weak. 

The sense of self-preservation has this new guard bringing the baton down on Erik’s shoulder. Erik is braced for the blow as the wind up is strong, but it’s light when it comes, no real power behind it. It tickles compared to most of the other blows Erik has suffered at the hands of guards. 

Cain snorts, displeased, but there is a small smile on his lips. “Again, Charlie, come on, _harder._ I know you can do better than this.” 

The next blow _is_ harder, much harder. The baton whistles through the air and slams into his gut, doubling Erik over. The next blow is on the back of his neck and Erik catches himself on his hands. He lurches to his feet as the baton comes down again, this time in Cain’s hand. Erik can see, just before Cain beats him again, that the new guard is huddled in the corner, hyperventilating. 

Erik still doesn’t understand this new guard but he forgets about it as his head viciously jerks to the side. His cheek is split open, blood running down his chin and neck. He’s on the ground but he stands again, gritting his teeth. 

Cain is laughing, Erik thinks, but the sound is distant and distorted. His vision is whiting out at the edges. Two more blows land on him in quick succession, another to his temple and then to his back. He stumbles forward, bracing for the next blow. 

It doesn’t come. 

Erik uses the break to breathe, sucking in breaths as he tries to block out the pain, pushing it to edges of his mind. He tries to straighten and careens to the side, the stone wall becoming the only thing holding him up. 

He’s still hunched over, and he stares at the new guard with…some feeling. There’s a bit of regret, because this new guard obviously hadn’t wanted to do any of that and only did for his own life. It’s sad but Erik can understand that, his life is worth nothing to this guard. But there’s still anger, still hatred, for the guards, for the prison, for his King. 

“What the hell you think you’re doing Marko?” 

Erik recognizes that voice and he wants to smile, almost. 

“Logan, get off me you animal!” 

Cain sounds like a squealing pig and Erik watches as Logan holds Marko’s wrist firmly against his struggles before letting go so that Cain wrenches away into the waste buckets in the corner. He’s automatically covered in the filth and the other prisoners are cheering, and both Logan and the new guard are chuckling lightly. 

“You bastards. You’re all dead! You hear me! Just wait until I tell my father. The King will have you hanged, all of you.” 

“Shut up and get out, Marko.” 

Cain is standing, his face red as he seethes in anger. He snarls, lunging at Erik and they both go crashing down. 

Erik feels the hard concrete floor crack his bones and he can barely breathe much less see. The pain is overwhelming to the point where he barely notices the hands pulling at Marko and himself. He’s being rolled to his back, but Erik’s safely headed into the world of unconsciousness. 


	2. Chapter 2

Logan does not like being a guard for the King. There’s too much politics and not a whole lot else. Stupidly, the King actually thinks Logan’s equipped to even be diplomatic. That is to say, he is, but if the King honestly thinks Logan would _choose_ diplomacy over another course of action- he’s sorely mistaken and a complete moron.

Logan’s a guard because his life has been long and he doesn’t remember a great deal of it. What he does remember, and quite clearly, were his days as a Knight for the Xavier family. Near a century ago now. It was around that time, King Xavier was usurped, violently and illegitimately, by the current King. A man who rules through fear. Logan counts it among his greatest mistakes, letting the King take power, and while it’s pointless to fight against a man, near as immortal as he is, when there is no fit replacement, Logan has had a feeling that one would arise, eventually. So he willingly took the demotion.

As a guard it’s far easier to gather information, be it gossip or factual. No one looks twice at a guard who’s on the outs with the King. There’s no reason to think he would be the one to betray your confidence, your fears, your anger. And the King is willing to let Logan roam freely, so—

Yet another tally against him.

The only situation that gives Logan any pause, the only part that makes him sick to his stomach, is the “army” the King is erecting in secret. They have an army full of Knights, it is large and stretches across their Kingdom. It is even so vast that it could stand guard over neighboring lands and kingdoms. Somehow though, this isn’t enough for the King.

In the underground tunnels built too many centuries ago for anyone to know it but archivists, there lay a network of training rooms and cells. It is a glorified prison, but without any of the square meals and protection laws. The King had set up two rules, capture and train the soldiers- all mutants from every walk of life who had the misfortune of revealing their powers to the wrong person- and make sure they are fit for any battle.

So long as a prisoner can stand, he can fight, which means there’s nothing stopping the guards from being cruel, whether it’s beatings or starvation, isolation or abuse. There is nothing.

The King has stationed Logan down here in shifts for the sole purpose of pissing him off.  
It’s what brings Logan down today only to find Cain Marko beating one of the prisoners.

Logan doesn’t like Cain. It’s not because he willingly works for the King, and it’s not because his father is some high royal noble. It’s not even that Cain is a truly annoying brat. It’s that Cain, is simply, a sick little man. He wallows in others’ pain and grief, thrives on their pleas for death, and does it all from the comfort of a secured place in a noble family full of more slimy bastards.

It’s disgusting.

To see Cain covered in human waste is such an accurate portrayal of the man that Logan actually let’s Cain live and flee after Logan tears him off the prisoner he tackled.

The prisoner is Erik Lensherr and Logan doesn’t know him as well as he knows the reputation. In the prisons he’s the leader. He has somehow managed to gather all the other mutants under his wing without so much as a word to do so. They naturally flock to him and it is absurd but unsurprising. Logan is familiar with his lineage as well, a good family of Knights, the Royal family’s best even. And Logan thinks Erik would have made a fine addition to the line if the King hadn’t screwed it all up seventy years before his birth.

Erik, at the moment, is little more than a jellified mess. He’s drifting between unconscious and that stage right before and he’s not moving much. There’s blood smeared on the side of his face and neck and it makes him look maimed and hurt worse than he actually is. Or at least, Logan hopes that’s the case.

The other guard that was with Marko kneels down next to Erik, holding a hand out to check wounds but Erik hisses and bites at him.

Logan huffs a laugh before pulling the guard back. “Ya beat him with a stick kid, he’s not going to be too friendly.”

“I didn’t want to– I just– Cain made me and I didn’t–“

“S’okay. Just give Lensherr a minute to go dark and then you can help me carry him to Medical.” Logan briefly wonders how _this_ kid ended up as a guard in a hellhole like this. He’s far too pure for something like this, though Logan thinks there’s something darker to the kid as well. Maybe it’s the King’s way of breaking him, ending the line. Regardless, Logan doesn’t like it. He also wonders if maybe he’s wrong, but he can’t be, not with those eyes, with that face.

“What’s your name kid?” Logan asks, because he figures it’s best to keep things secret for now. Find out how much this kid knows and Logan might as well be his approximation of nice about it.  
“Ch-Charles. Xavier. Charles Xavier.”

And boy, if that ain’t the cincher.

Charles stoops again, a hand reaching for Erik.

“Dämon! Geh sterben!”

Something red lashes out and Charles flinches back, falling on his arse.

Azazel, the _Red Demon,_ is on the bars separating his cage from Lensherr’s, feet and hands wrapped around the bars in such a way as to keep him elevated off the ground. His tail is swishing back and forth dangerously, trying to reach Erik and failing.

Charles is staring at Azazel, caught between fascination and fear. Logan grunts and kneels, checking Erik’s pulse to make sure he won’t die while everyone fights about who gets to touch him.

“You beat him and now you dare to touch him? Heathen!” Azazel hisses and spits, his tail has reached Erik’s foot and is curling around his ankle protectively.

“Charles, take the keys and unlock him.”

“W-what?”

“Take the keys and unlock Azazel.” He jingles the keys in front of Charles again a few times before the kid actually takes them and rises to his feet.

“Azazel, we’re taking him to medical, I’m assuming you want to come.”

Azazel eyes him for a moment, untrusting and poised to attack. But he nods jerkily.

“Then don’t kill Charles when he unlocks the cell door and let go of Erik so I can carry him.”

“Und Hank.”

Logan throws a glance over his shoulder and the other mutants that have been watching this whole situation unfold quietly suddenly find the floor to be extremely interesting. They are all backed tight into corners and it makes it easy to see a few cells away, to where McCoy is, staring unfocused back at him. Another victim of Cain he supposes. “And Hank,” Logan nods. “Charles, you help Hank, Azazel and I will get Erik.”

*

Azazel glances at Erik quickly, making sure his friend is still breathing before going back to his silent vigil of Charles Xavier.

The guard is conducting his own silent vigil, of Erik, and Azazel is not sure he likes the look in the guard’s eyes. It’s not particularly mean or anything just…haunted.

In fact, nothing about this guard is mean, or cruel, or purely offensive, unlike all the other guards Azazel has seen in this prison. However, he’s not kind either, at least, not outwardly so. Azazel thinks there might have been a flash of it, not kindness per say but regret, when he brought down the baton on Erik those few times, and then something else in that same realm of emotion, later, when he gazed on the bloodied down form of the mutant. And even now, as Xavier stares as Erik’s unbearably pale form, there is something.

Azazel endeavors to find out what it is before Erik wakes.

Logan seems to vouch for this guard, or at least, the closest thing one can get to approval from Logan, but Azazel is not convinced. Still, Logan is enough to warrant a chance for this guard.

“Who are you?” Azazel asks simply, his tail unfurling itself from Erik’s hand for a brief moment to gesture towards Xavier before returning to the cold hand.

Xavier startles, glancing across the room to the bed Hank is currently curled asleep in before replying. “No more German?”

Azazel tilts his head, not understanding. But then, ah, _that._ “I’ve spent some time in the Kingdom of Germany, very beautiful place. I believe Erik favors the language and I was hoping to offer comfort. It is a small offering but all that I can manage, in this place.”

Charles makes a little noise, something close to an _ah_ but more like an _oh,_ and begins to stare at his hands. “I’m Charles Xavier. But, you already knew that.” And he’s smiling wryly at his hands and the expression irritates Azazel.

“I like the idea of one introducing themselves. Allows them to express a bit of their character with their name.”

“And you? What is your name, and character?”

“I am Azazel.” Azazel bows, at least as much as he can in the chair he’s perched on, and waves his hand in a circle. “My character is for you to discern however.”

“And Erik-”

_Mr. Lensherr to you,_ Azazel finds himself wanting to say but instead holding his tongue. He doesn’t like the fact that Xavier speaks as though Erik and he are _friends._ They are a thing furthest from it.

“Is your friend?” Xavier finishes, oblivious to Azazel’s agitation. 

“Indeed. And my brother, without the blood. Not that it matters much to your _King._ He treats all us mutants as though we came from the same muddied blood bitch.” The barb, as Azazel intends it, falls completely flat as Xavier huffs out a laugh, his face brightening with white teeth.

“You find this funny?”

“Funny?” Xavier breathes deeply, silencing his laughter within moments. “Not really. I find it funny that you have managed to describe the King in complete accuracy without actually saying anything about the King.”

Azazel’s eyes widen. Sure, he has heard the guards speak ill of the King before—petty comments to go with petty grievances—but he’s not heard someone as _polite,_ for lack of a better word, as Xavier say anything actually worth merit. “You dislike the King?”

“Azazel, if I may?”

Azazel nods because really, he hadn’t offered another title now had he?

“I hate the King with every fiber of my being. I hate him so much my teeth grind together upon looking at him and my mouth feels like something died in it just saying his _title._ He is a cruel and despicable man that I have had the displeasure, many times, of dining with. The only man, or men even, that I could possibly hate more than him, are the Markos.”

Azazel hadn’t intended for Xavier to be so talkative. He had actually expected the man to clamp down around his words. Instead he was asking questions and answering more than was asked. It’s not displeasing, Azazel decides, but completely unexpected and it’s forcing him to adjust his impression of Xavier once again.

“A royal family, really?”

“Royal only because the King made it so. Are you telling me you like them, even Cain, after what he did to Erik?” Xavier is vicious, almost spitting the words.

Such emotion and all on the topic of evils done to Erik, it’s…another adjustment. The comment angers him though and Azazel can’t stop the hiss he lets loose, an almost howl. _“Cain should burn.”_

“Agreed,” Xavier nods and leans backs in his chair, crossing his legs on the seat. It makes him look younger, carefree almost. “And much more.”

That comment is darker and Azazel _knows_ there is much more to this Xavier as those haunted eyes return. “What is your issue with them?”

“Something…I rather not talk about, if that’s okay. Childhood memories, you see. Not very pleasant.”

And there’s the tight lip act Azazel was expecting. “Understandable.”

They sit in silence for a while and Azazel finally finds it in himself to stop glaring at Xavier as though he’s a serial killer with a flesh eating disease. He even manages to shorten the metaphorical ten foot pole he refuses to touch Charles with, to something about 5 feet and something he may actually be _willing_ to touch Xavier with.

“What kind of place is this?”

The question is so soft Azazel almost doesn’t hear it. When his eyes find Xavier, the guard has his head hung and he’s worrying at a lip, rubbing his hands together.

“Now that question, does not have pleasant answers either,” Azazel replies darkly because he doesn’t understand how Xavier could ask such a question. Surely if he knows the Markos as well as he seems to he would know what this place is, what it’s _like._

“I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it I-I understand.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, you are correct. But, I have no objection to speaking of the subject, if you feel okay learning the truth. It’s not like whatever shit the King fed you before you came here.”  
“Tell me.”

The voice is so dark and serious that Azazel finds he can’t really say no. With a last glance at both Hank and Erik, to make sure both friends are deep asleep, he starts speaking. His voice is a low murmur that goes unheard by any ears beyond the walls of Medical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dämon! Geh sterben! - Demon! Go die! (essentially fuck off, don't you dare touch him. etc.)  
> Und Hank - And Hank

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
> The German-  
> Läufers: Runners. Essentially. Also used to refer to the bishop pieces in chess.  
> Schmutz: Dirt. Trash. Garbage.
> 
> So, hope you enjoyed. I was looking through some of my old stuff and found this. I wanted to finish it before posting but I lost my muse. Anyway, hoping some feedback or something else might spark it into existence again.
> 
> Also, that moment when you're not sure which fandom tag to use. :P


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